“They’re going to help us,” Holly explained gently.
No1 had a million questions, and knew exactly how to phrase every one of them. But for the moment, words took a backseat to pictures, and No1’s square impish jaw dropped farther and farther as he stared through the tinted glass, absorbing the wonders of the modern motorway.
Holly took the opportunity to catch up with events.
“Doodah and Mulch got away okay?”
“Yes,” confirmed Artemis. “Foaly was anxious to have the shuttle returned, as he had taken it without clearance. We shouldn’t be more than a few hours behind them. By the time you get to the shuttleport, the shutdown should be lifted. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve earned yourself a medal, Holly. Job spectacularly well done.”
“There are still loose ends.”
“True. But nothing an LEP mindwipe team can’t take care of. There is no physical evidence that anything other than humans caused this devastation.”
Holly leaned back against the seat. “I’m forgetting something.”
“You’re forgetting the demons. Their spell is disintegrating. Their island will be lost in time. Will be, or has been. They drift in and out of time, making contact like a ouncing ball.”
No1 picked up on one word. “Disintegrating?”
“Hybras is doomed,” said Artemis frankly. “Your home will shortly be dragged through the time tunnel along with everything on it. When I say shortly, I mean at our end. At your end it could have already happened, or maybe it will happen in a million years.” He extended his hand. “And by the way, my name is Artemis Fowl.”
No1 took the hand, nibbling the forefinger as was the demon custom.
“I am No1. Imp. Isn’t there something we can do to save Hybras?”
“Hardly,” replied Artemis, retrieving his finger and checking it for bite marks. “The only way to save Hybras is to bring it back to Earth under controlled circumstances. Sadly, the only people who could have done that were the warlocks, and they are all dead.”
No1 chewed his lip. “Em, well, I’m not too sure, but I might be a warlock. I can speak in tongues.”
Artemis sat forward, straining his seat belt.“Speaking in tongues could be merely an aptitude. What else can you do?”
“Again, not positive about this, but I may have, possibly, turned wood to stone.” “The gargoyle’s touch. Now that is interesting. You know, No1, there’s something about you. Those markings.
You seem familiar to me.” Artemis frowned, irritated that he couldn’t quite place the memory. “We haven’t met before, I would certainly remember. Nevertheless, there is something . . .”
“These markings are quite common, especially the forehead hex. Demons often think they know me. Now, about saving Hybras?”
Artemis nodded. “Of course. The best course of action is to get you belowground. I only dabble in magical theory; Foaly has live experts just dying to examine you. I feel confident that the LEP can come up with a plan to save your island.”
“Really?”
Butler interrupted from the front of the car, saving Artemis from answering.
“We have a bit of a situation at Chateau Paradizo,” he said, tapping the screen of a compact laptop suckered to the dashboard. “Maybe you’d better take a look.”
The bodyguard passed the computer over his shoulder. The screen was divided into a dozen boxes, the security feed from Chateau Paradizo still being supplied by Foaly’s data twist.
Artemis balanced the laptop on his knees, his bright eyes flickering across the screen.
“Oh, dear,” he said thoughtfully. “This is not good.”
Holly swapped seats, so she could see the screen.
“Not good at all,” she said.
No1 was not too worried about the computer. As far as he was concerned, it was just a little box.
“Not good,” he mused, accessing the dictionary in his head.“A synonym for ‘bad.’”
Artemis did not look up from the screen. “That’s exactly right, No1. This is bad. Very bad.”
CHAPTER 10
KONG THE KING
Chateau Paradizo
Minerva Paradizo was simply furious. That odious Fowl boy had somehow stolen her research subject from right under her nose. And after all the money Papa had spent on security, even hiring that despicable Mr. Kong. Sometimes Minerva wondered if all males were boors, except Papa, of course.
The grounds were a mess. Master Fowl had left quite a trail of destruction in his wake. The cars were so much scrap metal. The lawns were plowed deep enough to plant vegetables, and the stink of smoke and oil had penetrated every corner of every room of the chateau. Only a hurried phone call to the police station in Vence and a few improvised fabrications about a generator accident had prevented the arrival of a police car.
Once the fires were under control, Minerva called a staff meeting on the patio. Juan Soto, the security chief; her father, Gaspard; and of course, Billy Kong, were in attendance. Mr. Kong seemed more agitated than usual.
“Demons,” muttered the Malibu native. “True, all true. I have a responsibility to my brother. Finish what he started.”
If Minerva had been paying attention to Billy Kong’s words, she might have noticed a touch of the ominous about them, but Minerva was busy worrying about her own problems. And in Minerva’s opinion, her own problems were far more important than anyone else’s.
“Can we focus here, everyone? You may have noticed that my project is in crisis.”
Gaspard Paradizo had just about had it with Minerva’s project. So far, he had indulged her to the tune of one and a half million euros, but now his entire estate had been trashed. It really was too much.
“Minerva, cherie,” he said, smoothing back his silver hair. “I think we need to take a step back from this. Perhaps quit while we’re not too far behind.”
“Quit, Papa? Quit? While Artemis Fowl conducts a parallel project? I think not.”
Gaspard spoke again, this time with a little iron in his tone. “You think not, Minerva?”
Minerva blushed. “Sorry, Papa. I am infuriated, that’s all. This Irish boy swans in here with his troops, and just like that, ruins all our work. It is unbearable, no?”
Gaspard was seated, as they all were, at a wrought-iron table on the rear patio overlooking the pool. He pushed back his chair and circled the table to his daughter’s seat. From her vantage point there was a spectacular view over the wooded gorge and down into Antibes. Nobody was very interested in the view on this evening.
“I think, Minerva,” he said, hunkering down beside her, “that we have gone too far in this matter. There are otherworldly forces at work here. Danger follows these creatures, and I can no longer allow you to place yourself, or others, in harm’s way. We fought a noble fight, and I am so proud of you that my heart may burst; but now this must become a government matter.”
“It can’t, Papa,” argued Minerva. “We have no records. No sources. Nothing. All our computer files and disks were destroyed. They drilled the safe and burned everything in it. I think Artemis Fowl even crashed Google and Yahoo. It’s hopeless. How would it look, a little girl turning up at the department of defense chattering on about monsters in the basement? I need evidence.”
Gaspard stood, his knees cracking. “Evidence, little one? These are not criminals. I watched you talk with our visitor. He was alert, intelligent, he had done nothing wrong. He was not an animal. It is one thing to present the Nobel committee with proof of an invasion through time, but quite another to hound innocent, sentient creatures.”
“But, Papa!” Minerva pleaded. “One more try. I need a month to rebuild my time tunnel model, then I can make a materialization prediction.”
Gaspard kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Look into your heart, my little genius. What does it tell you to do?”
Minerva scowled. “Look into my heart? Honestly, Papa, I am not a Care Bear.”
“Please, cherie,” said her fathe
r. “You know I love you, and I respect your genius, but just for once, couldn’t we go with the pony option? Couldn’t I just get Justin Timber-guy to play at your birthday party?”
Minerva fumed for several moments, but she knew Papa was right. She had no business detaining intelligent creatures. It was cruelty, nothing less. Especially when they intended no harm. But she could not just give up. Minerva silently resolved that Artemis Fowl would be her next project. She would find out all about the Irish boy, and what he knew of demons.
“Very well, Papa,” she sighed. “For you, I will forego my Nobel prize. This year, at any rate.”
Next year will be different, she thought. When I know what Artemis Fowl knows. There are whole worlds just beyond my grasp.
Gaspard embraced his daughter warmly. “Good. It is for the best.”
The French surgeon returned to his seat. “Now, Mr. Soto, damage report.”
The Spanish security chief consulted his clipboard. “I have only a preliminary report, Monsieur Paradizo. I suspect we will be finding damage for many weeks. The vehicles are completely destroyed. Thankfully, we do have war-zone insurance, so we should have new cars within five working days. There is shrapnel in the pool. One piece pierced the skimmer and the wall, so we have a leak and no filtration. I know a man in Tourrettes sur Loup. Very reasonable, and he can keep his mouth shut.”
“How about the men?”
Soto shook his head. “I don’t know what they hit us with. Some kind of ray gun. Like Martians. Anyway, most of the men are up and about. A few have headaches. No other side effects, except for Thierry, who has spent the past half an hour in the bathroom. We hear the odd scream—”
Suddenly Billy Kong emerged from his mumbling daydream, slamming his palm onto the glass-topped iron table.
“No. This will not do. Absolutely not. I need another demon.”
Gaspard frowned. “That unhappy experiment is over. I should never have allowed it. I was blinded by pride and ambition. There will be no more demons in this house.”
“Unacceptable,” said Kong, as though he were the employer and not the employee. “Eric’s work must be completed. I owe him that much.”
“Now listen here, Mister,” said Soto sternly. “What you find unacceptable is hardly an issue. You and your men were subcontracted to do a job, and that job does not include pronouncements on what is acceptable and what is not.”
As he spoke, Kong checked his hair in the small mirror he carried everywhere. “You need to understand a few things, Paradizo. First, you are not in charge here. Not really. Not since my men and I joined your little group. Secondly, I don’t generally work on this side of the law. My speciality is taking whatever I want by any means necessary. I only signed on for babysitting duty because I owe these demons a little payback. A lot of payback, actually. I know little Minerva just wanted to take photos of her guests and ask them a lot of psych questions, but I have my own plan for them. Something a little more painful.”
Gaspard turned his head toward Soto. “Mr. Soto. Do you have a response to this outrageous statement?”
“I do indeed,” blustered Juan Soto. “How dare you speak to Monsieur Paradizo in this fashion. You are an employee here, that is all. As a matter of fact, you are no longer an employee. Your contract is terminated. You have one hour to vacate your room and be off the premises.”
Billy Kong’s grin was as dangerous as a shark’s. “Or else what?”
“Or else my guards will remove you. I would remind you that there are only four men in your group and five times that number in mine.”
Kong winked at him. “Perhaps. But my four are the best.”
He flipped his jacket lapel to reveal a small clip-on microphone.
“I am moving up the schedule,” he said into the mike. “Open the horse.”
Soto was puzzled. What was this idiot talking about? Horses?
“Where did you get that microphone? Is that from the strongbox? Channels are to be kept clear for official transmissions.”
But Minerva caught the Iliad reference. Opening the horse could only refer to the Wooden Horse of Troy. Kong had planted traitors in the camp.
“Papa,” she said urgently. “We must leave.”
“Leave? This is my house. I have agreed to almost everything you have asked of me, cherie, but this is ridiculous. . . .”
Minerva pushed back her chair and raced around the table.
“Please, Papa. We are in danger here.”
Soto tutted. “Mademoiselle is in no danger. My men will protect you. Perhaps the strain of the day has made you irritable. Maybe you should take a nap.”
Minerva scowled in frustration. “Can’t you see what is happening here? Mr. Kong has given a signal to his men. Possibly they are already in charge. He has come among us as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Gaspard Paradizo was well aware of his daughter’s intelligence. “Soto? Is this possible?”
“Impossible!” declared Juan Soto, but behind his enraged blush was a tinge of pallor. Something about Kong’s grinning calmness unnerved him. And, truth be told, he was not quite the soldier that his résumé had declared him to be. True, he had spent a year with the Spanish peacekeeping force in Namibia, but he’d been attached to a journalist for the entire tour and had never participated in any action. He had got by in this job with mere bluster and a rudimentary knowledge of weaponry and tactics. But if someone were to come along who actually knew what he was talking about . . .
Soto reached to his belt, snicking off a walkie-talkie.
“Impossible,” he repeated. “But to reassure you, I will double the guard and instruct my team to be on alert.” He clicked the talk button. “Report in pairs. From the top.”
Soto released the button, filling the air with static. The empty hiss seemed more ominous than a ghost’s howl. This went on for several seconds. Soto tried valiantly to maintain a jaunty confidence, but was betrayed by a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “Equipment malfunction,” he said weakly.
Billy Kong shook his head.
“Two shots,” he said into his lapel mike.
Barely a second later, two sharp cracks echoed across the estate.
Kong grinned. “Confirmation,” he said. “I’m in control here.”
Soto had often wondered how he would react if faced with actual danger. Earlier, when he had believed that they were under siege, he had panicked slightly, but followed procedure. This was different.
Soto went for his gun. A practiced pistol man could do this without looking down. Soto was not practiced enough. By the time he glanced toward his holster, Kong had already leaped onto the table and knocked Soto unconscious.
The security chief keeled over backward with a dainty sigh.
Kong sat atop the table, elbows resting on knees.
“I need that demon back,” he said, casually drawing a stiletto blade from a secret pocket in the sleeve of his jacket. “How do we find him?”
Gaspard Paradizo smothered Minerva in his arms, protecting every inch of his daughter.
“If you hurt her, Kong . . .”
Billy Kong rolled his eyes. “No time for negotiations, doctor.”
He twirled the blade between his fingertips, then snapped his wrist, flicking the stiletto at Gaspard. The weapon’s handle thunked against the doctor’s forehead, and he fell away from Minerva like a discarded coat.
Minerva knelt, cradling her father’s head. “Papa? Wake up, Papa.” For a moment she was a little girl; then her intellect kicked in. She checked her father’s pulse and tapped the point of impact with her index and middle fingers.
“You are lucky, Mr. Kong, not to be facing a murder charge.”
Kong shrugged. “I’ve faced them before. It’s amazing how easy it is to elude the authorities. It costs exactly ten thousand dollars. Three for the face job, two for new papers, and five for a really good hacker to create a computer past for you.”
“Nevertheless, one more half revoluti
on of your blade and my father would be dead, and not merely unconscious.”
Kong pulled a second blade from his sleeve pocket. “There’s still time. Now, tell me how we go about finding our little friend.”
Minerva stood, facing Kong, her fists clenched defiantly.
“Listen to me, idiot. That demon is gone. I have no doubt that his benefactors plucked the silver bullet from his leg as soon as they had him in the car. He is back on his island. Forget about him.”
Kong frowned.“It makes sense. That’s what I would do. Well, okay then, when is the next materialization?”
Minerva should have been terrified. Her ability to do anything besides chatter and sob should have deserted her. After all, her father was lying unconscious, and the man who had put him in that state was sitting on her patio table brandishing a knife. But Minerva Paradizo was no ordinary twelve-year-old. She had always displayed remarkable composure in times of stress. So even though she was scared, Minerva was more than capable of communicating her scorn to Billy Kong.
“Where have you been for the past thirty minutes?” she asked, then snapped her fingers. “Of course, asleep. I believe you people call it neutralized. And by a tiny demoness too. Well, let me fill you in on what’s happened. Our entire operation has been neutralized. I have no research, no calculations, and no subject. I am starting from scratch. In fact, I wish I was starting from scratch. Starting from scratch would be a dream come true. Last time I was handed the time tunnel calculations, this time I have to work them out by myself. Now, don’t get me wrong, I could do it. I am a genius, after all, but it will take at least seventeen months. At the very least. Comprenezvous, Monsieur Kong?”
Billy Kong understood, all right. He understood that this little pain in the rear was trying to blind him with science.
“Seventeen months, eh? How long if you had some incentive?”
“Incentive won’t change the laws of science.”
Kong leaped down from the table, landing soundlessly on the balls of his feet. “I thought that was your speciality, changing the laws of science. Wasn’t this project all about proving how every other scientist in the world is a dummy, except you?”